


On the Hardships of Having Gloves and a Girlfriend at the Same Time

by poetic_nonsense



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things (kinda), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, College, Established Relationship, F/F, Knitting, Rule 63, vaugely fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetic_nonsense/pseuds/poetic_nonsense
Summary: Charlotte keeps stealing Erika's new gloves.  Erika is irritated.  Or at least, more irritated than Charlotte seems to believe.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pilfered Gloves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093254) by [helens78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78). 



> Helens78's adorable story compelled me not only to write this, but to make my own pair of X-gloves! Well, okay, the writing was actually an afterthought, but still. Five minutes after finishing the story I was elbow-deep in my yarn stash muttering incoherently about gauge and lacework patterns. Four rows into the ribbing I was hit by the story idea so hard I dropped three stitches in my mad scramble for the computer, and from there it was basically turning frenziedly from one to the other, with a few short breaks for baby carrots and, you know, sunlight.
> 
> Which is all by way of saying, I still absolutely think you should read Pilfered Gloves, but beware of the perils.

Erika cannot find her gloves. Which is a problem. Because Erika was-- is-- going to visit her girlfriend of three days, and it's bloody cold outside. For heaven’s sake, she only finished these yesterday!

Yes, she has other gloves somewhere, but she's damn well wearing her new pair. Charlotte had certainly oohed and ahhed enough while she was making them, when they were simply friends. She would come to Erika's room to read or study apart from the noise and bustle that always accompanied dormitories, but end up watching her knitting. Big blue eyes would look delightedly on as cables took shape or fingers were formed on the needles, as if the whole thing were a magic show.

In fact, Erika had been working on those gloves when they officially became romantically involved. It hadn't been a grand, world-changing moment: they'd known each other a few months, partnered on a couple chem projects, and fallen into an easy friendship. Conversation wandered effortlessly from music to politics, dead writers, and theoretical physics. That afternoon, they'd been sitting in Erika's living room, working (originally) on a few calculus problems. Erika was looking down at her knitting while she talked about her problems with the possibility of a multiverse. When she paused and looked up, Charlotte was looking at her with that special fond smile she only smiled for Erika, the one that made breathing just a tiny bit more difficult.

“I'd like to kiss you,” Erika said.

“I'd like that, too,” said Charlotte.

And that had been that.

And now, Erika can't find her gloves. They're not on the pinning block, and they're not on the desk (even though Erika's sure she would have put the block and steamer away too if she had put away the gloves). They're not even in her yarn stash. She is starting to get truly ticked off, but she tries to keep it on hold until she's checked her bedroom.

Approaching the bedroom, however, Erika notices something else odd. The door is closed, for one thing. Erika never closes the door while she’s out. From within comes a faint rustling sound, almost as if-- wait a minute.

She opens the door to find Charlotte curled up on her bed with a thick tome on her lap. At the sound of the door, Charlotte looks up with a bright smile and lowers the book and-- there are her missing gloves, pulled up around Charlotte's forearms. They're meant to go all the way up _Erika's_ forearms, so they sag down around Charlotte's elbows in a way that is… definitely not adorable.

“Hello! I got your text about lunch, and I thought I'd save you the trip! How do you feel about the restriction of human cloning?” Charlotte greets cheerfully.

Erika raises a brow and steps into the room. “You've purloined my gloves.”

Charlotte, who is climbing off the bed, blinks at her. “I've no idea what you're talking about,” she says innocently.

Erika's not buying it.

“Allow me to refresh your memory,” she says to Charlotte, who is stepping closer. She runs her fingertips down the length of a glove, down to where Charlotte's fingers peep out of the red wool. “These.”

“These?” Charlotte gives her her best posh, charming smile, the one that says “I'm a good girl, you can trust me,” the one that gets strangers to melt in Charlotte's hands, and entangles their fingers before looping her arms around Erika's neck. “I'm afraid you're mistaken. There's been no purloining. I simply found them.”

Erika raises a brow impassively, even though her hands come up to rest on Charlotte's shoulder blades. “I'll have them back now, if you don't mind.” She reaches for Charlotte's arms to retrieve them.

Charlotte quickly retracts her arms, and blue eyes turn pleading. “But Erika, they're so soft and warm!”

Erika narrows her eyes, and her brows twitch downward _just_ enough.

“Just look at the beautiful cabling,” Charlotte exclaims, switching tactics. “You're such a fantastic knitter, darling. I'm so proud of you.” She hides her arms behind her back and gives Erika the warmest smile she can muster.

Erika gives Charlotte an exasperated look and grabs her arms, deftly peeling off the gloves while Charlotte huffs indignantly. When she looks back up, Charlotte is smiling again, and is Erika imagining the strange glint in her eye?

“So, cloning,” Charlotte says brightly. “Or lunch?”

“Lunch,” Erika says decisively, pulling the gloves onto her own arms and taking Charlotte's hand again. “And then I'll talk about whatever weird technobabble you have cooked up today.”

“Hey!” Charlotte protests, without any real heat. “Bioethics is an incredibly important field of study!”

“Yes, but cloning? Shouldn't you be more concerned with experimental psychiatry on recipients of xenotransplantation or something?”

“We can talk about that too, if you want,” Charlotte shrugs. “But personally, I'd like to have ethical guidelines worked out before the technology becomes available.”

They step outside, and Charlotte hisses at the cold. Erika stuffs their linked hands into her jacket pocket.

 

\---------

 

Erika is hiking across campus to the open house in the basement of the science building, because two weeks into their relationship she still cannot refuse anything Charlotte asks of her. Two seconds' exposure to Charlotte’s hopeful gaze, and “What, are you crazy?” comes out as “If I have time after my metallurgy lecture." 

So instead of going home and having a sandwich, Erika is heading the other way into the biting wind, following a gaudy banner which says “SCIENCE EXHIBITION, Q&A” down a flight of stairs, and sifting her way through the crowd trying to find her girlfriend, because apparently when it comes to Charlotte she is the world’s greatest sucker.

She rounds a corner and there Charlotte is, at the biochemistry booth chatting animatedly with a man and his son. But Erika hardly notices that; in fact, she is fighting down absurdist laughter. Because there Charlotte is, in a plaid skirt and blue blazer, the very picture of Old World propriety, and peeping out of her sleeves are Erika’s stolen gloves.

As Erika makes her way toward them, intent redoubled, she recognizes the man from the school paper. No doubt a big shot sending his third or fourth kid off here with a sizable investment-- the very reason Charlotte is here in the first place. The professors like to have Charlotte around to help schmooze the big-time donors, due to her preternatural ability to make everyone like her, and Charlotte is as eager to be accommodating for others as Erika is for her.

She gets within earshot, and -- yep, Charlotte is charming the socks off this guy, and it seems as natural as breathing. “This really is an excellent environment for people of a scientific mind. You'll find there are plenty of students here who are always eager to discuss any science you might care to mention--almost to a fault, really. In fact, we were thinking of convening a sort of Polymath Society.”

The father chuckles; the kid looks used to staying quiet and letting his father lead, but Charlotte is addressing herself mostly to him, and Erika has no doubt she'll draw him out. It's at this point that Charlotte glances to the side and notices her, beckoning her over and pulling her to her side.

“Case in point is the wonderful Erika Lehnsherr, one of our engineering students. She has fantastic insight, and I've solicited her help on multiple difficult situations. Erika, this is David Thornton, and his father.”

Erika shakes hands and returns to her stance by Charlotte's side. “Nice to meet you,” she says. Then, without really meaning to, “Charlotte sounds modest, but in large part it's her unbridled enthusiasm for anything that can be studied or put under a microscope which encourages many students to learn beyond the scope of their own studies, and makes them a community. I know no one better at illuminating difficult subjects or bringing people together. If you are starting university, you could not ask for a better friend and ambassador.”

Erika wraps up her impromptu speech quickly, feeling somewhat foolish. But when she glances over Charlotte is beaming at her, and a gloved hand takes hers and squeezes it. It remains there for the next fifteen minutes as Charlotte and David spin off into a conversation about fish speciation.

 

\--------

 

The door is scarcely closed behind them before they are up against a wall, kissing. It's Charlotte with her back pressed up against the wall, but her hands are twisted deeply in Erika’s lapels and pulling her closer, closer, closer. Erika reciprocates, of course; yesterday was their one-month anniversary, and that had been a nice evening, but tonight there's been something incendiary in the air all night. 

They’d gone out for burgers and a few beers at a place just off campus with a few friends. Uncommonly, it had mostly been small talk and joking around; no discussions of thermodynamics until after Alex had decided to get too sloshed to expound upon the subject without using words like “boomy” and “majorly hot.” While Hank was getting the second round, Erika had taken the opportunity to lean in and kiss Charlotte. Charlotte responded eagerly for a moment before reluctantly pulling away. “That's a slippery slope, my friend,” she'd said with a remorseful grin, before turning to talk to Raven about what the best current crime drama was.

Sean eyed them suspiciously, like a box of fireworks he didn't quite trust not to spontaneously go off. Erika gave him a glare.

Charlotte's hand had settled lightly on her knee and stayed there for the rest of the evening.

And now Erika is pressed up head to toe against Charlotte, which is much, much better, if not quite enough to appease the uncanny tension which had been slowly building all that time. Charlotte sucks briefly on her lower lip, so Erika does that thing which makes Charlotte make that rumbly “mmm” sound every time. Charlotte tastes vaguely like French fries and cheap beer, but she also tastes like _Charlotte_ , so Erika doesn't care.

Erika runs her hands up Charlotte's sides to her shoulders and then one back down to tug her shirt out of her trousers, at least as much as possible while Erika's still pressed firmly against her front. Charlotte gasps, “Yes, please,” and tries to worm her hands in between them to unbutton Erika's shirt.

Erika finally succeeds in freeing the shirt, and plants her hand firmly beneath it on Charlotte's back. Charlotte breathlessly complains, “No fair,” at the feel of the glove that Erika is finally wearing for a change, as though they haven't held hands all the way home.

Erika doesn't respond-- she has better things to do-- and her other hand joins the first. Charlotte wriggles into the hands and whispers against Erika's lips, “Take them off.”

Erika growls. “No,” she says, and plants a kiss on Charlotte's protesting mouth. “They're mine.”

“ _I'm_ yours,” Charlotte protests, as if that were the way to get Erika to slow down and remove the gloves. Yeah, right.

Charlotte makes a soft pleading sound and her thumb strokes that spot on Erika's side when Erika doesn't respond. Erika pulls away and makes at least a nominal effort at getting her breath back before looking at Charlotte. “I could be persuaded.” As though it isn't already a lost cause.

Charlotte's face brightens deviously. She pushes Erika away and walks past her, into the apartment proper. Erika, whose reaction time is significantly slowed, can only watch helplessly as Charlotte heads across the living room, flippantly removing her jacket and tossing it onto the couch, before looking back with a mischievous smile on those kiss-reddened lips. “I'm going to make myself comfortable. You're more than welcome to take off those gloves and join me.” And she sashays away to the bedroom.

The gloves are quickly removed.

 

\--------

 

“Are you cold?” Erika asks, eyeing Charlotte, who, once again, has the gloves on for no apparent reason. Sure, there's a frost outside, but they're on the couch eating dinner and playing chess and the heater’s on and they used the oven to cook the roast and Erika's done everything but build a campfire, so there's no way she needs the gloves. 

“Hmm?” asks Charlotte around a bite of mashed potato, and realizes what Erika's tilting at. “Oh. No,” she says happily, and takes her turn.

“You know, there are times when I want to wear those. I did work on them for a week,” Erika points out.

“I suppose,” says Charlotte, looking mournfully down at them. Too mournful, actually, for someone who's just snagged Erika's only remaining knight. Erika feels something crumble inside anyway, and grudgingly says, “It’s all right, I don't need them right now anyway.”

Charlotte brightens up at that. “Thank you, darling,” she says, and leans over the board to give Erika a kiss that tastes faintly of gravy. “I'm not trying to put you out, you know. I just-- they feel so nice, warm and soft and cozy, and I forget I have them on, and, well, I like going about my day wearing something you made,” she says abashedly.

...oh. The gears in Erika's brain shift, messily and noisily. She may never look at Charlotte in her gloves the same way again, and Charlotte's beaming at her like she _knows_. “My turn?” Erika asks, and takes it, and it's not spoken of again, but Erika's eyes can't help sneaking to the gloves every now and then. And if they don't make it to the end of the game, well, they don't have anywhere to be.

Charlotte had been winning anyway. Erika blames the gloves.

 

\--------

 

It's a bright, chilly November morning, but Charlotte (who is _not_ a morning person) seemed happy and energetic before she went off to have a shower. Erika, too, is excited and strangely content, standing in the kitchen waiting for the kettle. They're getting ready to set off for Erika's parents’ house, to spend Thanksgiving weekend with them. Erika's fully dressed, got her keys in her pocket and her shoes on, making them Thermoses for the road. Charlotte's running at a somewhat slower pace, but Erika doesn't mind; she got up first, anyway, and Charlotte's not as used to road trips. And she seems genuinely excited to meet Erika's parents, even though she's been warned there will be significant nosiness. 

Erika's musing, staring deeply into the coffee pot, so she's a little surprised when Charlotte sidles up from behind and wraps her arms around her. Charlotte drops a kiss on her cheek-- she's dressed now, but still warm from the shower-- and hums appreciatively when Erika turns around to give her a proper good-morning kiss.

“Hello,” says Charlotte, after.

“We ought to get going soon,” says Erika.

“What all’s left?” Charlotte asks, peeping over her shoulder.

“This'll be a minute, and then whenever you're ready,” Erika says, rubbing a thumb over one of the belt loops on Charlotte's jeans.

“Fantastic. I'll just check we have everything packed one last time, then,” she says, and pulls away, not without one last familiar peck.

In short order, the kettle whistles, and Erika is pouring the drinks into Thermoses-- coffee for her, English Breakfast for Charlotte-- when she hears a delighted squeal from the bedroom. Erika suspects Charlotte's found the gloves Erika's surreptitiously slipped into her suitcase. She sets the mugs down and goes to investigate, leaning in the bedroom door frame.

Sure enough, there's an open suitcase on the bed, and when Charlotte turns to beam at her there are a pair of blue fingerless gloves in her hands.

“Erika! Did you make these for me?” Charlotte looks absolutely thrilled.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Erika says levelly.

Charlotte is not slowed down at all by this answer, and slips the gloves on quickly. “Oh, Erika, they're beautiful! And so soft!”

They ought to be. Erika had drawn up the cabling design herself, and it took her three weeks to knit them up in secret. The ribbing is tighter, and they end snugly tucked up against the crook of Charlotte's elbow.

Erika doesn't respond, but finds herself smiling as she watches Charlotte appreciate them, rubbing her palm against her cheek and flexing her fingers.

Finally she turns to Erika. “Thank you, Erika,” she says quietly, a heartfelt smile on her face. She wraps her gloved arms around Erika's neck and presses her lips to Erika's, simple but meaningful.

After a moment she draws back with a grin. “I can't wait to show you off to my family.” A look of breathless epiphany crosses her face, and she looks at Erika as if seeing her anew. “Oh, God-- I'd be in the sitting room having tea with my mother, acting demure, and wearing these all the while…”

“Get in the car,” Erika announces abruptly. Charlotte bursts into delighted laughter. _...before we run into any sudden delays_ , thinks Erika, a bit desperately.

“I'd have to sneak into your room to return them,” Charlotte continues with a wicked grin.

“In the car,” Erika repeats shortly, extricating herself from the embrace and grabbing her suitcase before making her way purposefully through the apartment.

Charlotte follows, still chuckling.

 

\--------

 

Erika wakes to the twittering of bluejays and a scent that hasn't been familiar in a long time. She blinks her eyes open against the feeble morning sun with a grunt and finds Charlotte propped up on one elbow, smiling gently at her and reaching out to brush her hair away from her forehead. 

“What time’s it?” Erika mumbles, stretching a little.

“Seven-thirtyish. Your mother says breakfast’s in half an hour. She offered to give me her recipe for potato pancakes.”

“I told you she'd love you,” Erika says, tossing an arm over Charlotte's lap. She snuggles down a bit, deciding to try enjoying a lazy morning as a change. When they arrived, Erika's mother had welcomed them with open arms, then surprised them both with the announcement that they would both be staying in Erika's old room. Erika tried to protest: it was a small house, but surely she could clear out space _some_ where-- but her mother gave her a meaningful look. Erika, unwisely, had tried to get her father's help, but he seemed very keen to stay out of it. Her mother gave her the “I am your mother, this is how it's going to be” look, and that had been that.

Charlotte had looked delighted at this display of gruff familial affection. In fact, she had hardly stopped looking delighted since they arrived. There was the round of embarrassingly invasive questioning that made Erika beg to have stopped, but her mother seemed to have decided that Charlotte was as good as family now. Charlotte had taken to them better than Erika could have hoped, listening with rapt attention to her father’s stories and spending almost as much time in the kitchen as her mother would have liked.

“Yeah,” says Charlotte softly, and her smile turns unimaginably tender.

“What?” asks Erika.

“You're incredible,” Charlotte says, stroking her cheek. She leans down, and whispers, “Let me do all the wonderful things for you that you do for me.” It's not a promise or a question: it's both, and something else besides. She closes the distance, and it makes Erika feel powerful and completely out of control at the same time. Erika can't help thinking, foolishly, that the future is something incredible they can shape together.

Charlotte still steals her gloves every now and then. Erika doesn't mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I bet Magneto'd enjoy knitting. It's methodical, precise, and productive. It involves pointy things with which to threaten others.
> 
> But most of all, I bet Magneto wouldn't lose his/her DPNs down the back of the #### couch!
> 
> Half-crazed grumblings aside, I'd really appreciate your telling me what you thought, what you liked or what I could do better! Thanks!


End file.
